The accident was your fault.
I forgive you. It is all okay.
You were very sad
and because you were very sad you became very drunk
and because you became very drunk you decided to practice your golf swing
in your bedroom next to the dresser.
It was a little thing.
I was a little thing.
Like all goldfish
I have been granted the power to see the future
now that I’m dead.
I can confirm that she will never love you again.
You are damaged now – affected permanently, like everyone.
While certainty is enough for most species
I know for you this is not of much comfort
and so I’m sorry I can’t offer you more – you were good to me,
in spite of everything. You fed me and kept my tank clean
and loved me as perfectly as you could.
There is no use standing there
looking down into the porcelain bowl.
In my buoyant repose I have no answers.
Just let me go. Push the lever now
and go look at yourself in the bathroom mirror blankly
in the way that you love to do when you have had too much to drink.
What you’re thinking is true:
that’s you, that’s really you, looking back,
physically manifest as the person
who has made a living manufacturing
your own brand of unique and terrible mistakes.
You’ve had a long day.
Go lie down now,
take off your socks,
plug your phone into the wall,
shut your eyes against the darkness.
Don’t be embarrassed to cry.
Things will change for you now.
Of course you are wrong to think of giving up,
but it is appropriate
to be fearful.